


I'll Follow You into the Dark

by buckybleeds, Call_Me_Kayyyyy (Cheeky9274)



Series: Transatlanticism [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (threatend but not completed), 1941 is all consensual but prolly not safe or sane, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, As in the same way the Winter Soldier is Hydra Bucky Barnes, Brock Rumlow is an anal fistula in every universe, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain Hydra, Castration, Consensual bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, HYDRA Trash Party, Heavy BDSM, Hydra Steve Rogers, Illustrations, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Bondage, Object Insertion, POV Multiple, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Prayer Circle for Bucky's Asshole, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Pre-Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Size Queen Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, Torture, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, also did i mention, and the second chapter is FULL OF NOPE, basically the first chapter is Kinky But Consensual and Sweet, everybody needs a hug, large object insertion, one large object cheerfully and willingly inserted, one large object no so much, there is ART IN THIS MOTHERFUCKER, they are both assets, they both fell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25801021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybleeds/pseuds/buckybleeds, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeky9274/pseuds/Call_Me_Kayyyyy
Summary: Bucky and Steve enjoy an invigorating afternoon of togetherness and knotting dildos in 1941.They do NOT enjoy an afternoon in the company of their HYDRA handlers in 2009.(you do not have to read "I held my tongue" in order to make sense of this story; it is a supplemental prequel, not vital plot)
Relationships: Hydra Agents/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Hydra Agents, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Transatlanticism [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886806
Comments: 15
Kudos: 107





	1. Our Hands Clasped so Tight

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't want to read rape stop in the first chapter. 
> 
> If you're here for the garbage party this is alllllllllll for you, baybee.
> 
> Title of the fic and the chapters are from Death Cab for Cutie: https://youtu.be/NDHY1D0tKRA
> 
> Thanks to @call-me-kayyyyy for the superb illustrations and for asking for a fic to match them. Writing to complement your work was a delight.
> 
> Thanks to @defilerwyrm and @Deus3xMachina for volunteering to beta read this beast. 
> 
> Thanks to @ZepysGirl for talking over tagging with me. 
> 
> Yeah, thanks to all the hustlers, and most importantly you: the customer.

# 1941

" - and your mother, you two-bit punk."

The clanging from the alley was too large and loud to hope that a stray had jumped off the fire escape and misaimed the landing.

"What'd you say about my mother you sonofabitch - "

Well, that and a stray wouldn't have been defending the honor of its dead mother, God rest and bless her.

Bucky picked up his feet a little more quickly.

"I said if you're gonna be uptight about then I ain't _buying_ , I'll just fuck you _and_ your mother, 'cause she's a fucking whore just like - "

Bucky made it into the space between the dingy brick building he called home and the dingy brick building next door just in time to watch Steve Rogers, all sixty-four furious inches of him, fly right into Freddy Bruckner's chest wielding a rusted pipe he'd clawed out of the garbage heap he'd been tossed into.

Freddy squawked and yelped and stumbled back against the rough brick on the other side of the alley, barely getting an arm up in time to save himself from having his bell rung by Steve's improvised bludgeon. He caught his fist in Steve's shirt and his eyes went hot and angry and he wrenched the pipe out of the smaller man's hands, drawing his arm way, way back to swing for the fences.

Bucky grabbed the end of the pipe and yanked back on it before Freddy could let loose.

He squawked again, pulled off balance, and dropped Steve, who immediately launched himself right back at Freddy's chest with murder in his eyes.

Bucky got a fist hooked into his torn collar and held him back while Freddy scrambled to his feet.

"You," Bucky growled, "you get the fuck outta here. You hear me?"

Freddy opened his mouth to argue and Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"You ain't buying nothing today unless it's trouble. You want some trouble, Freddy?" Steve was panting but getting his feet squared under him, Bucky rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight, his posture taking some intangible turn that made it impossible to forget that Bucky Barnes was a champion boxer first, clerk, lady's man, and good boy to his mother second.

Freddy did the smart thing and turned tail without another word.

Bucky sniffed and watched him go for a second before turning his attention to Steve.

Steve was a mess.

His collar was torn, his hair full of muck, and a big purple scrape marred the right side of his face from his chin nearly up to his temple.

"Let's get you cleaned up, sweetheart," Bucky said, gently.

"Fuck you," Steve replied, and started making his way upstairs.

***

The thing is, Steve knew why guys like Freddy asked.

They asked how much. They asked mine or yours. They asked is anyone taking care of you, sweet thing. 

And they asked because Steve deserved it. 

Everybody in the neighborhood knew about him. They knew about his weak lungs and his bad temper and his dead ma and how he couldn't keep a job more than a month and how that nice Barnes boy was a saint, taking in his crippled little friend. 

And Steve did have a bad temper and a dead mother and he owed Bucky for everything. 

Guys like Freddy figured he paid for it somehow.

Steve poured cold water over his hair from the pitcher, letting it carry his anger away with the grime from the alley. 

Guys like Freddy weren't exactly wrong about Steve, but they sure weren't right about him either. 

Bucky sat, smoking, at the table and watched Steve rub excess water out of his hair with his torn shirt.

"You good, chief?"

Bucky blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. 

"You got lipstick on your neck, pal."

Bucky's hand froze in the act of reaching toward the ashtray. 

"That ain't an answer," Bucky's hand moved again. 

Steve dropped the wet shirt. 

"You don't come home last night, show up in a wrinkled suit past noon, pick me up and manhandle me in front of a prick like Freddy Bruckner, and sit there, pretty as you please, laughing at me with lipstick on your neck. How do you think I feel?"

Bucky slowly stubbed out his cigarette. 

"I don't know, 'swhy I'm asking."

"I feel like maybe you should quit asking and start listening."

Bucky did a poor job of hiding the shudder that moved through him at those words, and a worse job of hiding the sparkle in his eyes when he answered.

"Okay, Steve. I'm listening."

***

Nobody in the neighborhood knew a goddamned thing about Steve Rogers and that was the way Bucky liked it. 

They thought they knew that Steve paid his rent on his knees. They thought they knew he was scrawny and weak. 

They thought they knew that Steve had an ugly body and a mean face to match his ugly, mean temper. 

Nobody knew Steve Rogers, and nobody knew what he did to Bucky Barnes.

Bucky didn't think Steve even knew how crazy he made Bucky, bending over the basin with his shirt off and his suspenders on to hold his pants up over his narrow hips. 

He stood and started scolding Bucky and it was all that Bucky could do to follow his words instead of the drops of water running down from his hair to where the thin black straps framed the smooth skin and scant muscle of his chest. 

Crazy. It made him crazy. The kind of crazy that made him smile at the chill in Steve's tone, the kind of crazy that made him want blood in his mouth and a scream in his throat. 

"My shirt is ruined. Give me yours."

Bucky did. He gave Steve his tie, too, and shucked off his shoes and socks and pants and found himself kneeling at Steve's feet in his boxers, enthralled. 

Steve always looked like an angel to Bucky. His pale skin glowed like marble in the sunlight, his hair and his mouth and his eyes gold and coral and turquoise, precious, holy. 

Now he looked like some kind of devil and Bucky was ready to fall with him. 

He had put Bucky's shirt on over his own suspenders and left it open, flashes of black straps on white skin hidden beneath the wilted softness of a once-starched shirt on the second day of hard wear. The sleeves were too long for him, hiding his rawboned frame and trailing over his slim hands, exposing the cold, pink tips of his fingers only when he was reaching for something. His pants were scuffed and soft and faded with age. His feet were bare. He should have looked vulnerable. 

Instead he looked dangerous.

He threaded his fingers through Bucky's hair, mussing it out of place and wrenching his head back.

Anybody who thought Steve was weak because he was sick and skinny had never held a brush above their head for hours to paint a shop sign.

Steve's other hand came up to Bucky's throat, cold fingers tracing from his ear to his collarbones paused halfway down and circled gently. Deceptively.

"It's not your color, Buck," he murmured, and Bucky realized Steve was tracing the red marks of someone else's mouth on his skin. "Who'd you run away with last night?"

Bucky swallowed, trying to wet his mouth to answer, and apparently that slowed him down too much for Steve's tastes. The hand on his throat darted up, quick as a thought, and laid a hard, fast slap on his cheek.

"Who had you?"

"Betty Monroe," his cheek stung and tingled, he felt blood rushing under his skin all over his body, a freight train of electricity that started throbbing in his lips and his cock at about the same time.

"Betty Monroe. Betty Monroe is a nice girl, Buck, she's in typing school. Helps her ma bake bread for the soup kitchen. Betty Monroe wouldn't spend all night with you, would she, not if she was a nice girl."

Bucky's lip curled and his eyes went glassy.

"Maybe Betty Monroe ain't so nice." Steve's hand came up and the other cheek started stinging.

"Maybe Betty Monroe was a nice girl until you got to her."

Steve's eyes were large and bright, round with wonder and sharp with hunger as Bucky's breath hitched in his chest.

"They used to say I was a nice boy, you know," Bucky said, his voice quiet and somber.

"Yeah, they did. What happened?"

"I don't know. Maybe I was a nice boy until you got to me."

Steve laughed gently and pulled at Bucky's hair with both hands until clear tears were standing in his eyes.

"And I ain't never been nice, huh?"

The tears broke and ran down Bucky's temples, cooling his heated skin.

"No, sweetheart. You're too good to be nice. Good like you's gotta be a little mean. Nice is for people like me and Betty Monroe who ain't got no morals."

Bucky didn't know what he was saying, just that it was true.

It felt true.

Steve rewarded him with another slap, this one backhanded and hard enough to taste a little blood on his tongue.

"You fucked her," Steve asked, but it wasn't really a question. Bucky closed his eyes and nodded as much as he could with Steve's hand holding his hair like an anchor.

"I know you like girls, Buck. I don't mind when you fuck them. I don't mind when they mark up your neck or scratch up your back."

Steve ran his own short nails over Bucky's shoulder blade, waking up pain he hadn't realized was there.

"You know why you're in trouble, though, Buck?"

Bucky nodded.

"You can have whoever you want. As much or as little as you want."

Bucky nodded and sucked in a shuddering breath. More tears were running out of his closed eyes.

"But you come home to me."

***

Steve believed in generosity of spirit. He believed in community ownership. He believed in charity, compassion, and giving. Steve, for all that he had very little to call his own, liked sharing. 

Steve did not like to share Bucky.

He understood the necessity. He knew how it looked. If Bucky had a reputation as a tomcat then maybe he'd skip getting labeled a queer, and a wolf who spent his time chasing skirts didn't need to keep a fairy at home. When Bucky took girls out it made him happy and protected them both. 

That didn't mean Steve had to like it. 

Bucky was his, damnit. Steve slapped his face again and felt his heart clench at the adoring, glassy-eyed smile Bucky gave him in return. 

"Why'd you stay out all night, Buck? Betty so good you needed to stick around for seconds?"

Bucky shook his head and nuzzled his face against Steve's palm. 

"She asked me to marry her."

The sun went out. 

At least that's what it felt like to Steve. He swallowed and managed to choke out some words.

"She's sharp. She'll be good for you."

Bucky's smile got softer. 

"She's a nice girl. I wanted to let her down easy. I ain't gonna marry her. Ain't gonna marry anybody."

Steve's hand tightened in Bucky's hair and he let himself breathe.

"Yeah, why's that?"

Bucky dropped the pretense of their game. He brought his arms up and wrapped them around Steve's waist while he pressed his forehead into his thin chest.

"Got everything I need right here. I'm not going anywhere, pal."

Steve hugged him back and rested his cheek on Bucky's soft hair. 

Steve loved Bucky so much that sometimes it burned like a fever inside him. Steve's real heart was weak and faulty, unreliable. So he just let Bucky be his whole heart instead. 

"Being a sap isn't going to get you out of trouble."

"You know I wouldn't want it any other way."

"That's good," Steve said, pulling Bucky back by his hair to watch his face, "because I got a new prescription from Dr. Morton yesterday and maybe you need it more than I do."

Bucky's smile lit up his whole face.

Steve and Bucky were pretty sure that Dr. Morton was a quack and they were certain that he was a pervert. He believed in enemas and purgatives to keep the blood clean, he also believed in the regular use of dilators to relax the body and mind. 

Steve was his favorite patient. 

Dr. Morton loved to fill Steve's tiny body with water and rubber and lecture him about the ways in which masturbation weakened the will and vitality of a young man.

It was clear that Dr. Morton thought Steve masturbated a lot.

Steve knew Dr. Morton was using him. He knew that someday it would probably go too far. Maybe it already had. But he let Steve pay pennies for his heart tablets and asthma powders. If Dr. Morton preferred giving suppositories over giving injections Steve wasn't really in a position to complain. 

Besides, the dilators had their uses. 

"What'd the old goat give you this time, sweetheart?" Bucky was being very still. The kind of still that Steve knew was forced so that he wouldn't wiggle in anticipation. 

"You're gonna love it. It's just your speed."

Steve left Bucky kneeling in the kitchen to pull a box out from under his disused little cot. He set it down on the table and propped up the lid so Bucky couldn't see the contents. 

He tried to kneel up taller and crane his neck to get a look. 

Steve laughed.

"This is supposed to be a punishment you know."

"Yeah, a'course, I'm very sorry I stayed out all night and worried you, please punish me to make sure that the lesson sticks."

"You're incorrigible, Barnes"

"Only because you incorrige me, Rogers," Bucky said, but the smile slipped off his face and was replaced by wide-eyed awe as Steve lifted the dilator out of the box.

"Chrissakes, is he trying to kill you?"

The thing was black rubber with a flared steel base, like all of Dr. Morton's dilators were. Most of them, however, were not as long as Steve's forearm nor as thick as Bucky’s wrist and none of them until now had featured a smooth bulb the size of a billiard ball halfway down the shaft. 

Steve hummed consideringly and held the thing up in front of himself. It looked so big next to his little body that it seemed like it would stab his heart if he tried to put it inside of him. 

"I think he wants me to get stuck on it and beg him to help me free."

Bucky's cock, which had been starting to get stiff when Steve undressed him and had been rock solid since the dilator came out of the box, jerked noticeably in his shorts. 

Steve grinned at the motion, and reached out a hand to Bucky's face. He traced the full lips with his thumb then took a firm grip on his chin, tilting Bucky's head up until he was looking into Steve's eyes instead of staring lovingly at the hefty rubber tool. 

"You want me to do that to you, honey? You want me to fill you up with something hard and mean and run a couple belts between your legs? Lock it inside you and keep it here while you cry for me to get it out?"

Bucky's cock twitched again and he let out a helpless whimper.

"You're so easy, Buck. Do any of the girls you step out with know how easy it is to make you cry?"

" 'm only easy for you."

Steve knew that was true and was giddy with the knowledge. He leaned in and gave Bucky one mostly-nice kiss that left his mouth red and wet before he set to work taking him apart. 

***

"Give me your hands," Steve's deep voice seemed too big for their apartment. From his awkward position on the ground Bucky lifted his hands up behind him and Steve wrapped his wrists in the tie he’d set aside, gently knotting them together. He tugged Bucky's boxers down, leaving them puddled around his knees, and laid the length of the dilator between his cheeks. 

The thing was huge, obscene. 

Bucky wanted it so badly he was surprised he wasn't already drooling. He canted his hips back and deepened the arch of his spine in offering. 

"Pretty," Steve said, and stepped away, placing the dilator on the table and pulling a tin of Vaseline out of his pocket. "Think you can open yourself up like that or do you need some help?"

Bucky rolled his shoulders and checked how far the tie knotted around his wrists would let him move. He could probably reach to stretch himself open but he wouldn’t be able to do a very good job of it and he’d look like an idiot while he was getting there.

He knew that Steve liked fingering him open, but he also knew that Steve liked everything better when he’d watched Bucky struggling for a while. 

"Hand it over."

Steve slid the lid off with a smile on his face and leaned down to suck the lipstick off of Bucky's neck when he placed the gel in his bound hands.

Bucky felt his face warm when Steve sat at the kitchen table and avidly watched him fumbling to get his fingers wet. He scooped up a healthy amount of the oily stuff and reached for his hole.

It was clumsy and awkward, he kept shifting his feet and losing his balance as he tried to reach deep enough into himself to get ready for the intimidating tool Steve was toying with while he watched Bucky strain and grunt and blush. 

Christ, his hand couldn’t even close around the thing.

Bucky was pinking up with embarrassment and exertion, going red with the penetrating stare Steve was leveling at him.

He whimpered and tried to spread the two fingers in his ass apart - they slipped out because of the awkward angle and he huffed in frustration before stuffing them back into his body and trying again.

“You think Betty thinks you’re as pretty as I do?” Steve was unabashedly watching Bucky, resting his hand on the tented front of his trousers.

He squirmed and scissored his fingers open a bit.

“You think Betty would think you’re pretty like this?”

Bucky whimpered.

“Answer me.”

He felt like his face was on fire, like he was going to melt through the floor. He closed his eyes tight and craned his wrist up to press a third fingertip shallowly into his body.

“She’d hate it. Think I’m a freak.” 

Steve’s eyes roved over Bucky’s body, lingering on the sweat gathering in the tempting divot above his collarbone and the darkening head of his hard prick.

“Fuck her, then, you’re an angel.”

Bucky snorted. 

“I thought fucking her was the problem, pal.”

Steve wasn’t really weak, he just had shit stamina. He was quick and strong when he wanted to be, so when he braced the heel of his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and shoved that was all it took to unseat his precarious balance and land him hard on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs and the fingers out of his asshole.

“Your fucking mouth is gonna get you in trouble someday. I should tape it shut and have some quiet around here for once.”

Bucky coughed a little and spread his legs as Steve ran his hands down the backs of his thighs, curling his torso and nearly bringing his knees to his shoulders.

“You’d miss the noises I make,” Bucky said, and proved his point by moaning helplessly when Steve pushed two long, clever fingers inside of him.

***

Everything about Bucky made Steve crazy. 

His mouth, whether it was being smart or slutty; his big doe eyes that got brighter when he cried; the soft hair that pulled whines and moans out of him when it was tugged on; his pretty cock and the angry red color it turned that was the only shade Steve was ever sure he saw clearly.

His tight, hungry hole that always wanted more.

Steve knew that his prick was just like the rest of him - pale, anemic, and underdeveloped. He also knew that didn’t matter at all to Bucky because he could have been packing ten inches and Bucky still wouldn’t feel full on anything less than Steve’s whole goddamned fist. 

And that made Steve crazy. 

He could spend years watching Bucky’s eyes go shiny and his face go slack as he opened over Steve’s knuckles; he could spend a lifetime on it. 

After knocking Bucky down where he could manipulate him Steve didn’t need to be rough, just thorough. The new toy was bigger than anything Steve had made him take and if Steve was a little bit of a sadist he at least knew better than to break the things he wanted to play with.

He folded Bucky’s knees back and pushed his thighs apart and watched his eyes go glassy and bright when Steve stuffed him full of fingers and started twisting him open, bullying the tense muscle of his asshole into softened submission while Bucky’s cock dripped a shining stream onto his own stomach.

Steve loved him so much it made him want to tear him into little pieces he could tuck inside of himself; it made him want to eat the world and spit fire.

It made him crazy.

He was panting by the time he pulled four fingers out of Bucky, the telltale rattle of a wheeze chasing his exhales. Bucky whined at being empty, but his distant eyes got a bit more focused when Steve picked up the dilator and smeared it with a palmful of grease.

“You want it, honey?”

Bucky nodded, his mouth open and red and too stupid with need to form words.

Steve bit the inside of his thigh and lined the tip of the dilator up with his hole.

***

The thing about being with Steve was that it made everything else go quiet.

Worries about his job, about what the girls he went with said about him, about the deepening lines on his mother’s forehead - all that went away.

It didn’t work with anyone else because nobody else was like Steve. Nobody else would look at Bucky, lean and strong and charming, and think about how pretty he’d be sliding down over a goddamned fire hydrant. 

But Steve gave him that. Didn’t hesitate, didn’t think it was wrong, didn’t pull back when his body resisted.

Steve gave him silence and the sun and the incredible feeling of splitting open and being made to stay still - quiet and safe only because Steve didn’t decide to push just a little bit harder.

The new dilator was - 

God - 

It was too big, _too big_ and they both knew it but Steve had slicked him open and _pushed anyway_ and Bucky had his hands tied and his legs spread and all that he could do was breathe and let himself burn as the cool rubber tip of the thing warmed against his skin.

Bucky whimpered and felt his body clenching involuntarily, his knees curling higher toward his chest while that dull, too-big weight bore into him. Steve smiled at him sweetly and lifted his hand away from Bucky’s shaking thigh only to bring it down hard and fast on his balls.

Bucky yelped and tensed at the pain, then tried to breathe and the tip of the dilator shoved inside of him and he was choking.

His breath was caught between a gasp and a scream - his eyes didn’t know where to look so they rolled in his head.

Steve was petting the back of his thigh. Steve was saying something.

Bucky stopped whining like a teakettle long enough to hear “-so good for me, honey, doing so well-” and then settled into trying to keep from sobbing.

Steve pushed the dilator further into him and he sobbed anyway.

“Hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts,” he whined, trying to hitch his hips toward or away from the intrusion - he couldn’t tell.

“Shhh, shhh, I know honey, know it hurts,” Steve pressed it forward _again_ and Bucky gave in to crying, feeling his face get red and wet. “Not even a little bleeding, you’re stretched out so well, so used to being full like this, sweetheart.”

Bucky shook his head. He wasn’t used to being full like _this_. Steve’s hand might be bigger around but it wasn’t so hard - the rubber coating on the tool was so firm it might as well be bakelite. 

“Yeah, yes, you are, or you will be. We’ll get you all trained up good, huh, get you so loose and empty you’ll need something like this inside you to keep you full?”

That thought had Bucky’s cock twitching and stomach jumping with want and he moaned as another inch of the dilator slid into him.

He could learn to take this, learn to stay stuffed up full for Steve to stare at and sigh over. He could take this.

Steve’s hand cupped his face and Bucky opened his eyes to see the blond smiling dreamily at him, looking some combination of proud and horrified and hungry. His other hand had stopped moving.

“You’re a mess, honey.”

Bucky thought he managed to nod.

“You need me to stop? Take it out?”

“Nu-no. Want it. Wanna. Full.”

Steve rocked it a little inside of Bucky but didn’t move it deeper and Bucky realized why he’d stopped where he had as a little spurt of precome dripped out of his cock and his hips twitched - Steve kept rocking the end of the dilator against that hotsoftfullbright place inside him.

“You wanna full, Buck? You wanna what? Say it. Tell me.”

Bucky swallowed and took a slow breath.

“Want you to fuck me with it. Want it in me as far as it’ll go.”

“Yeah? Tell me more.”

Steve, the bastard, rolled his wrist and left the end of the thick rod butted up against that good-bad, tingling, too-much place, thrusting it minutely while Bucky tried to find some words. 

“The - I want - I want the ball. I want you to make me.”

A clear, sticky line of fluid was trailing down Bucky’s stomach, rolling from the center of him to the floor. Steve hadn’t even touched his cock.

“Make you what?”

Bastard.

“Make me take it. Make it fit inside me.”

***

Steve felt the grin hook into the corner of his mouth and yank up into his cheek.

“What if I hurt you, honey?”

Bucky, nude, sweating, shaking, crying, and impaled on the obscene phallus in Steve’s hand, smiled like a stained glass angel.

“Then I guess it’ll hurt.”

Steve felt a shiver move through every inch of his crooked spine.

He’d eat acid for this man, if Bucky wanted him to. Bucky trusted Steve to take care of him when he was like this, beautiful and vulnerable. The least Steve could do in return was anything he ever asked for.

He carefully gathered more vaseline from the tin on the floor by his knee and made sure the dilator was wetted down well. Bucky couldn’t see how much he’d already taken, how close the bulb in the middle of the shaft was to the delicate, already-straining skin of his hole. When the first swell of its girth met his skin he sucked in a breath and arched his spine into it, trembling in fear of it and wanting it so, so badly. 

Steve bent his head and drew the hot, dripping tip of Bucky’s cock into his mouth, getting a squeal and a spurt of precome for his effort.

Steve couldn’t suck a dick with any depth before he started wheezing and choking, but he had become an expert at everything that made Bucky squirm and whine and relax around whatever bowling pin Steve was shoving into him at the time. 

He cupped the head on his flattened tongue before curling the muscle up and around in a luxuriantly rough brush and then the tip of his tongue was teasing into Bucky’s weeping slit and little pained, musical noises were huffing out with his shallow breaths. Steve sealed his lips around the very beginning of the shaft and let his mouth get wet and messy so it slid easily when he sucked his way back up to the tip and rubbed the flattened center of his tongue back and forth against the tiny, tantalizing opening of Bucky’s prick. He made his tongue a point again and pushed it as hard as he could into the little hole while also screwing down with the dilator and moving the absurd ball further into Bucky’s ass. 

Bucky howled and his hips jerked and another bittersalt burst of flavor spurted into Steve’s mouth. He sucked it up along with what spit he could, and popped Bucky’s cock out of his mouth so that he could focus on the task at hand, and what he saw took his breath away.

Bucky’s hole couldn’t decide to be red or white, swollen and rosy everywhere except where it was pale around the dilator’s bulge, the skin stretched so taut that all the blood had been driven out. He was shiny with lube and sticky with sweat and the ridiculous swell of the thing was in him almost to its thickest point.

And if his ass was as pretty as a picture the rest of him was a symphony - he was blotchy and sweating and heaving and the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. 

***

Bucky felt like his head was about to pop off of his body and float away into the clouds. All that he knew was the insane spread of the thing forcing him open and the glowing smile on Steve’s face.

"You're doing so good, honey, my guy, fuck, look at you," Steve was nearly hypnotized and Bucky was panting at the praise, panicking from the stretch, and generally losing his mind.

"Can't, can't, can't," he chanted, choking on the rest of the words he wanted to say. 

Steve's hand stopped and Bucky thought he might scream. 

"Do we need to quit? You say the word and we're done."

Bucky growled through his teeth and felt a few tears mix with the sweat on his face. 

"Rogers if you stop now I'll kill you."

Steve smiled, dopey and soft and glowing with reverence. 

"My guy," he said in a sweet little whisper, and pushed the dilator hard into Bucky until it passed the widest point of the bulge and his body easily swallowed the rest of the taper. 

Bucky's mouth opened but no sound escaped, not even a breath, before his hips were jerking up and he was coming all over his stomach.

He couldn't feel anything past the sensation of exquisite fullness. 

Logically he knew that even at its widest point the dilator wasn't as big around as Steve's fist, but the steel weight and rigidity of the thing blasted that knowledge from his mind and left him reeling and overwhelmed and feeling like a pig on a spit ready to be carved into pieces and eaten.

Steve’s voice blurred over him, a low, sweet purr that felt like a warm blanket of cotton candy fresh from the boardwalk at Coney Island. Bucky breathed and breathed and it still felt like riding down the first big drop of the Cyclone, like he was falling forever and nothing was going to catch him.

Then Steve’s hand moved and he came crashing back down to earth.

***

Nobody had ever accused Steve Rogers of being a nice man.

He could be good. He could be kind. He was loyal to a fault.

But he wasn’t nice.

The beautiful blue of Bucky’s eyes was silvered under a sheen of tears. His chest was bright pink and heaving, his spent cock was going limp and soft. Anyone could see that Bucky had had enough.

Steve thought he could take a little more. 

He tugged the dilator until he saw the bulb distending Bucky’s skin from the outside, then released it and let it settle back in. Then he did it again, pulling a bit harder until a bit of that smooth swell had made its way back to daylight before letting go and letting Bucky’s body drink it back in.

Bucky made a noise like a surprised kitten and Steve grinned at him, watching the tears finally break free and run down his confused face.

“Love how hungry you are for it, honey. You suck it in like a sundae.”

“Steve -”

He twisted when he pulled this time, wishing there were ridges so he could see it swirling as a little more made its way out only to sink back in faster than before.

“Steve, I -”

This time Steve pushed and Bucky’s breath stuttered out in a moan.

“Makes me crazy, the things you let me do.”

He pushed a little more and Bucky may have whined a bit but his cock also twitched and his hips jerked happily.

Steve wiggled the dilator then drew it back, slow and strong, until it seemed like Bucky was going to split open around it again. When he moved it forward he didn’t let go, forcing Bucky’s body to close over the swelling slowly, feeling every inch of it.

“You’re gonna kill me, Rogers,” Bucky panted, rocking down onto the huge thing inside of him.

“You’re gonna like it, Barnes,” Steve answered, smile so big it felt like it would crack on his face.

***

Bucky’s brain was broken. Steve had taken it out and shaken it to pieces and put more of the dilator into him until he was screaming with it and they were both sure he couldn’t actually take anymore and now he was slowly fucking it out of Bucky’s body while he was also doing the maddeningly perfect shallow cocksucking thing that always made Bucky want to explode out of his skin with how good it felt and Bucky’s brain was broken. Steve had taken it in both hands and snapped it over his knee and shoved it into Bucky’s asshole and was now drinking it out of his cock like it was Coca Cola in the summer and Bucky was never, ever going to be the same. 

He came after Steve had pulled the bulb of the dilator out and the rest of it was shallow enough inside of him that the shameless, infernal little demon that was Steve Rogers could grind it directly against Bucky’s prostate while playing with the head of his cock like he was trying to suck the juice out of a plum. 

It was a weak orgasm but it nonetheless exploded out of Bucky’s chest like sudden sunlight, emptying him and at the same time filling him with the knowledge that this was it. This was all that he needed and wanted in the world. Bucky belonged to Steve Rogers and the little shit was going to eat him alive and he was right, Bucky was going to die happy about that someday.

***

Bucky was sweet and dizzy and wordless by the time Steve got him empty. 

His asshole gaped wetly and Steve wanted to put his mouth on it, feel the sweet slackness around his tongue, but the little whimpers working their way out of Bucky’s chest told Steve that he was too far gone to take any more stimulation. 

Steve shook a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and carefully cleaned the greasy sheen of vaseline out of Bucky’s crease, moving gently over the soft, overtaxed muscles of his hole. 

He wiped the drying come off his stomach and slowly helped him up to his knees where he leaned heavily into Steve to keep his balance.

Steve reached down to slip the silk off of Bucky’s wrists and was startled to find that he was hard against Bucky’s shoulder, his own arousal a small and distant thing compared to the obsession he had for taking Bucky apart. 

He thought he’d keep ignoring it, wrap his dizzy charge up in a blanket and feed him bits of fresh bread and sweet honey until his words came back, but apparently Bucky had different thoughts on the matter.

As soon as his hands were free they were clumsily fumbling at the front of Steve’s pants, pushing past the hanging tails of his own shirt to reach Steve’s small, rock-hard prick and put his mouth on it.

Steve didn’t always want to get sucked but he knew that Bucky loved it, loved that he could take everything so easily, swallow Steve all the way down without batting an eye and savor the slight weight and burning heat of it on his tongue, so Steve let him take what he wanted.

It’s not as though it was any kind of hardship; Bucky’s mouth seemed as hot as a teakettle around him and the soft uncoordination was so sweet it made Steve’s teeth hurt.

Bucky let Steve’s cock slip out of his mouth and tilted his head so that he could nose up underneath it and plant his lips on the ridge that ran up the underside of it. He tongued at it until his mouth was good and wet then sucked up the length of it like he was sealing the seam of a cigarette. 

Steve stopped him before he could take the head of it back in his mouth, holding him firm with a thumb on his chin so that he could watch the shiny, bruised red lips drop open hungrily for him.

“Beautiful,” he said, quietly. Reverently.

He’d burn the world to keep this man safe. Nothing could stop him.

# 1945

In a cold mountain pass a beautiful boy falls into the dark.

In a choice between holding on to his life and reaching out to his heart the choice is simple.

Eating acid, jumping off a train - just as easy as drawing one more breath. 

In a cold mountain pass two lovers fall like doves in a hailstorm.


	2. Fear is the Heart of Love

# 2009

Brock was convinced that no matter how strong, fast, or frighteningly intelligent they were, working with the Assets was more trouble than it was worth.

But it wasn’t Brock’s place to say any of that because even if they were a lot of effort to manage they were worth a hell of a lot more than him, so it was just his job to defuse this powder-keg of a situation without any of his team getting killed or either of the assets getting damaged enough that it would prevent them from garroting the Prime Minister in two days. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Brock shouted, because the first order of business was deescalation and having everyone screaming wasn’t helping with that. 

Brock was, thankfully, loud, scary, and senior enough that a bellowed command got things mostly quiet. Higgins was snivelling and one of the Assets was doing that terrifying rumbling thing they did when they weren’t allowed to talk but wanted to let you know exactly how pissed they were, but at least no one was screaming. 

“What the fuck happened,” he demanded, and Jack spoke up, which was a blessing because Jack was the only non-asshole on this whole godforsaken op.

“Mike took a baton to Thing Two and Thing One decided he didn’t like that and broke Mike’s nose.”

Brock glared at Higgins and looked over the Assets. He could see a split on the Captain’s brow that was creepily sealing itself shut in real time and the Soldier seemed to be the one doing the growling.

“Why did you think smacking an Asset with a baton two days before an international operation was a good idea, Higgins?”

The idiot pouted. It looked awful with his bloody nose.

“It attacked me first! I was just warming Cap up for some one-on-one and the Soldier went nuts on me. These fuckin’ things are getting too pushy, Sir. They keep forgetting what they’re for.”

Higgins was an asshole but he was a _correct_ asshole. It hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that the Assets were rabidly protective of one another or that they were starting to act like their secondary function was beneath them. 

At least they still responded to direct orders reliably.

“Soldier, strip and go wait in cell two for correction. Cap, go with him. No talking.”

Brock sneered at Higgins. 

“You’re tidying up in here. You know better than to try to put them through their paces without backup.” He glanced around the room. “Rollins, Moss, Langley, Karlson, and Stone - you’re on babysitting duty.” 

Everyone else grumbled but didn’t put up a fuss. Brock detoured to the handling kit before he followed the others and not for the first time he found himself wondering who exactly trained these fucking things in the first place.

He shrugged, wrote it off as above his pay grade, and shouldered his bag of tricks.

***

If you were in HYDRA long enough, and you lived long enough and were loyal enough, you might hear some stories about the Assets.

You might hear about how they were found holding hands in the snow. 

You might hear how the Captain had howled and refused to let go of the Soldier’s severed arm when they were separated. 

You might hear that the Soldier woke up mangled and missing part of himself.

What you wouldn’t hear is that the Captain was missing something much more profound because that was something you had to find out for yourself while he stared you down with his violent, vacant, feral gaze.

The Soldier seemed almost human some days, robot arm or no. 

Cap, though, was always as beautiful and as animal as a tiger.

It made punishing him hard. 

You could hit him, you could burn him, you could tie him down and spread him out and let a whole squadron use him and it wouldn’t make a difference. He’d still stare at you with his blank, carnivore eyes and smile a little like he was thinking about how you’d taste. It took work to make the Captain respect you.

The Soldier was easier. All you had to do was touch the Captain.

Brock entered the holding area to find the Assets kneeling beside each other in the second cell with their handlers lined up against the wall facing them. 

They’d waited, which was exactly why these were the five people he’d be running the op with later this week. Dependable, even if they were mostly pricks.

Brock nodded to the others and dug in the bag until he came up with a set of reinforced restraints - black leather over steel and thick chains. He tossed them to the Captain.

“Put those on the Soldier and lock him down to the floor.”

The restraints weren’t complicated. A cuff around each wrist hooked to a cuff around each thigh hooked to a cuff around each ankle locked to a shackle set in the rough concrete floor of the cell. 

Cap did as he was told.

And then he did more.

He grabbed onto the Soldier’s unruly mop of hair and wrenched his head back, staring unblinkingly into wide, frightened blue eyes. He ran a single finger along the Soldier’s throat, tracing an invisible line from his ear to his collarbone.

Brock coughed. 

These things were so fucking creepy.

“Cap, stick to your orders.”

The slow motion of the Asset’s hand stopped.

Brock held out the toy.

“Put this underneath him with the end of it inside of him. Then kneel in front of Karlson.”

The Captain took the toy. He studied the length of it, taking in how thick and dense it was. His eyes flicked briefly to Brock’s face. He held the toy and didn’t move. 

The thing was a foot long if it was an inch, shaped like a fat, red tentacle and probably as thick as the Asset’s wrist at the base. The Captain ran his hand up it and his skin rasped dryly over the textured surface. 

“Do as you’re told, Asset,” Brock said, trying to inject some steel into his voice.

Cap turned neatly on his heel and strode over to crouch behind the soldier. Too quickly for anyone to stop him he’d shoved a hand in the center of the Soldier’s back, pushing his chest down to the floor, before he planted his smirking pink mouth right over the Soldier’s asshole and started trying to tongue-fuck him into oblivion. 

It was such a mesmerizing sight that it took nearly a minute for Brock to realize what the little shithead was doing. 

“Asset! Put that fucking thing in him _dry_ and kneel in front of Karlson before we decide to make the soldier’s punishment a whole lot worse.”

Cap glared at him over his mouthful of ass but pulled his head back. He had apparently taken his time to work up a good amount of saliva that he drooled on the end of the dildo, then slammed the first three inches into the Soldier. He grabbed a handful of hair and dragged the squirming supersoldier back upright to his knees so he was left uncomfortably squatting over most of the length of the toy while the Captain’s spit dripped out of him and down the nubby surface of the dildo.

Cap sauntered over to Karlson and dropped lazily to his knees. He tipped up his chin and opened his mouth like a dare.

Brock took a strange little tool out of the bag. It looked like a pipe wrench had crossbred with some kitchen shears and gotten tangled up in some thick fishing line. He held it up with a piece of paper.

“Do you know what this is?”

It was no surprise when the Captain shook his head. He never remembered it and Brock again worried a little in the back of his mind. _Who put these protocols together? Who trained these monsters?_

“It’s permission for me to use this thing,” he wiggled the tool, “on either or both of you as I see fit. These,” he wiggled the tool again, “are called castration pliers. All I’ve got to do is slip them over your nuts and pull the trigger and it wraps a little gasket around your sack. And soon enough that little gasket cuts off the blood flow. And soon enough your useless fucking balls fall off and maybe you’ll calm the fuck down and stop being a problem for all of us. What do you think?”

The Soldier was rumbling again.

Cap’s eyes had gotten wide, almost enough of an expression that it could be called an emotion, which was as close to fear as the awful thing ever got.

Brock crouched down next to him.

“Open your pants and pull your cock and balls out.”

He didn’t move.

“He’s already tied down. I will use your words and put you on ice and cut his balls off if you don’t get your junk out right fucking now.”

The Captain moved. His hands were shaking. That was new, but then Brock had never actually gotten this close to using the pliers before. 

It was kind of a rush. 

Cap was already on some kind of unbelievably toxic drug cocktail that made him amped-up and randy all the time so it was no surprise that he was hard when he opened up his tac pants and lifted himself out. It was also no surprise that he cringed when Brock’s hand shot out and wrapped around his sack, high and tight at the base. 

“You look fucking stupid with just your dick swinging in the wind. Take the top of your suit off.”

The Soldier’s growling got higher, closer to a whine when more of the Captain’s skin was exposed and the network of scars across his back became visible. Brock tugged down his pants until they were riding low on his hips and just cresting the curve of his ass. He twisted his hand on Cap’s balls a little to bring his attention back where it belonged.

“Put the shield harness back on, I want to see what it does to your tits.”

It took him a minute to shake the sleeves of the suit out of the black leather of the harness but it was worth it when he put it on. It made him look like some kind of stripper. 

“You’re real pretty when you want to be, you know that?”

Cap didn’t move. He’d gotten his shaking under control. 

“You’re going to deepthroat Karlson or I’m going to cut your balls off.” Brock eased the pliers around the Asset’s sack and moved his other hand clear of the thick, cutting elastic.

The shaking started again.

Because that was the funny thing. 

He could take pain for days, came like a volcano when you ran a train on him, and seemed to have no sense of shame or modesty, but Cap couldn’t suck cock to save his life.

Or his balls.

And he knew it. 

Brock triggered the pliers.

Cap squealed like a puppy in a trash compactor. 

Brock wasn’t a monster. He let the Asset curl around the pain and shiver and choke until he got his breathing under control before he nudged his thigh with the toe of his boot.

“Take care of Karlson and maybe I’ll take that off you before it’s too late to save the family jewels, sweetheart.”

The supersoldier clawed himself upright and looked pleadingly at Karlson. His cocky swagger had all been shaken away and he whimpered as he crawled closer to the handler and opened his pants.

Karlson was average-sized, a totally normal, run-of-the-mill dick. 

Cap did what he always did, which was to use his tongue like a fucking demon while keeping his throat closed tighter than a nun’s knees. Karlson let that happen for a moment, luxuriating in it, before he got a good grip around the Captain’s skull with both hands and started choking him.

He was hilariously, laughably bad at taking a cock in his mouth. As soon as anything went deeper than the midpoint of his tongue he’d start gagging and choking and dripping long, thick strands of spit on his pretty tits. 

Karlson held him down until the spasms of his throat were too tight to even keep a dick in place and Cap reared back just to reel himself back in in a blind panic, sucking and snuffling and whimpering all while carefully cringing and keeping his hands protectively cupped around his balls. 

Brock left them to it and stood next to the Soldier.

The Captain didn’t plot. He just acted, damn the consequences. And sometimes that was damn-near inspirational when you saw him backflip out of a jet to dive feet-first through the wing of a passenger plane, but most of the time it was a nuisance. 

The Soldier, though. Brainwashed and frazzled though he might be, the Soldier was a thinker. 

Brock squatted down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder for balance and shoving the quickly-drying tentacle deeper into his ass.

“What do you think the odds are that he realizes that’s your punishment, not his?”

The Soldier didn’t look at Brock, didn’t even seem to look at the Captain, just stared straight ahead.

Karlson had finished on Cap’s face and the supersoldier was trying valiantly and uselessly to swallow Stone’s fat cock. 

“He’s not yours. You’re not his. You are tools, you are weapons, you are toys. You do as you’re told by your handlers and what they do to him is none of your concern.”

Stone had made fists on either side of Cap’s head and little tufts of blond hair stuck out between his fingers as he fucked hard into the Asset’s mouth. The ripples of muscle and scar tissue as he tried to compensate for the rough motion and control his gagging were beautiful. His cock was standing out from his crotch, red and angry, but the elastic band around his balls was too tight to allow him to get wet and messy like he usually did.

Rumlow pulled the Soldier down a little harder onto the tentacle and he grunted quietly.

“Every time you act like you own him we cut out another piece of him. All those marks on his back are because _you_ couldn’t let him go. I’m not going to take his balls today, but I get the feeling that someday I will, and when I do I know it will be because of you.”

The Soldier’s eyes watered and briefly snapped to the action on the other side of the cell when a small cheer went up. The Captain had gagged so hard on Stone’s dick that he’d brought up a thin stream of bile and dribbled it down his chest. Stone backhanded him and fucked happily back into his mouth.

“But I don’t want that, and you don’t want that, so here’s what’s going to happen,” Langley was tugging down Cap’s pants a bit further and spitting into his hand. The supersoldier yelped, then moaned, when the near-dry cock was shoved into him. 

“In two days you are going to kill the Prime Minister of this backwater shithole. Cap is only on this op as backup but you’re perfect, nobody needs to tell you that, so you’re going to get this job done on your own and I’m going to keep Cap here.”

Stone had a hand over the Asset’s mouth and another pinching his nose closed, forcing him to swallow. Moss shoved Stone aside and the Captain refused to open his mouth for him. Moss said something to Langley, who reached underneath the supersoldier to grab ahold of his nuts, which had turned an alarming shade of purple-blue already. His mouth popped open as he howled and Moss pushed in, choking him immediately on his long, thin cock.

“You’re going to bunk in one cell and Cap is going to bunk in another until the op is done.”

Brock took his hand off the Soldier’s shoulder and pushed his hair back away from his eyes. He was beautiful. They were both so beautiful and terrifying and Brock loathed them so much he could hardly stand it. 

Langley pulled out of the Captain, his dick livid with fresh blood. Rollins lined himself up next. The Soldier shuddered with a sympathetic sense-memory. Rollins was hung like a fucking bull and didn’t like to get involved in playing with the Assets until someone else had opened them up for him.

“And when we’re all done you’re going to get on one jet and he’s going to get on another. I think we’ll let you land first, and we’ll take you to the techs and they’ll put you in cryo. And then we’ll let Cap see you and we’ll freeze him too.” 

Rumlow stroked the Soldier’s high cheekbone and ran his thumb over its plush mouth.

“And then I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you never, ever see each other again.”

The Soldier gave up the attempt to stare into space and his clear blue eyes snapped to Brock’s face. 

Somewhere in the background Moss finished and the only sounds from the other side of the cell were Jack grunting, the rest of the commandos shooting the shit, and the tiny, nearly subsonic whines that were getting fucked out of Cap’s mouth.

“I hate working with both of you. You’re both fucking nightmares. But he’s worse. He’s going to fuck up in a big way someday and it’s going to be ugly for me and my men, and probably you too sweetheart. So I figure either we keep him around and use him like this all the time, make his secondary function his primary function and maybe stop giving him the drugs that make him like it,” something hot and awful was happening behind the Soldier’s eyes and something Jack did was enough to force an actual cry of pain out of the Captain, “or we keep him on ice forever. Keep him safe and out of the way where he can’t hurt us and we can’t hurt him. You’re better than him. You’re smarter, safer. You I can negotiate with.”

Now that Cap’s crying had started it wasn’t stopping and the corner bullshitting had turned to cheers of encouragement for whatever terrible thing Jack was doing.

“Is that what you want?”

The Soldier blinked slowly, not looking over to where the Captain sobbed.

He nodded, a small and careful movement.

Rollins swore as he came and Cap’s breath stuttered out of him.

“Good boy,” Brock said, and got ready to punish the other menace.

***

“Rollins, take a seat. The rest of you hit the showers,” Brock said as he bent down to pull the Captain into a shaky kneel by the strap of the harness. 

Even bleeding and battered he was still a stubborn motherfucker.

“You didn’t manage to deepthroat anybody, did you sweetheart?”

Cap, absent something actively tearing his body open, had settled back into his normal, skin-crawling state of calm, even seeming to have adjusted to the pain between his legs and the unsatisfied arousal making his cock bob with his heartbeat.

Brock nudged his darkening sack with the toe of his boot just to be sure and got a flinch and a hiss out of him. 

“That means I’m not cutting the band off you yet. You ain’t sorry yet. You gonna show me you’re sorry, maybe keep your nuts?”

The Captain opened his mouth and tried to lean toward Brock’s crotch but was held back by a fist in his hair.

“You do that for anybody, huh? That’s not an apology.”

The supersoldier swayed and stared blankly into Brock’s face.

“You hurt Higgins. Now you’re going to apologize by hurting someone else.” Brock gestured behind him to where the Soldier was still chained to the ground and squatting over a foot of silicone tentacle.

The Captain, grade-A creepy motherfucker, smiled.

Or bared his bloody teeth at Brock. It was definitely one or the other. 

Brock, at least a grade-C creepy motherfucker, smiled back and held up the pliers.

“You’re going to hurt him or I’m going to hurt him, baby,” and the smirk dropped off Cap’s face satisfyingly quickly. 

“You’re gonna fuck him on that thing until he bleeds. You get me?”

The Captain crawled toward the Soldier.

***

The Soldier didn’t know why it mattered, couldn’t remember, and when he hunted down those memories in his head they were chased away like rabbits in the snow - all he knew is that he’d rather live a thousand years of torture than watch another minute of the bloody, beaten, golden suffering of the blonde man. 

The blood on the other man’s thighs was already drying by the time he hiked up his pants enough to crawl across the cell toward the Soldier; the wounds left by the others were closing, the blood was flaking away black, but there were still bruises bright under his pale, scarred white skin. 

As he crawled closer the harness around his chest pulled at his shoulders and flattered his neck and called down a yawning, empty ache for home that left the Soldier reeling, thinking of bird bones and brick alleys and tasting a wisp of smoke and salt on his tongue.

He didn’t know why but he loved this man.

He loved this man who would hurt him and he wasn’t afraid because he’d keep him asleep and safe and far, far away from the haunting things around them.

***

His fingers felt thick and wrong and uncertain as they skimmed the soft, trembling skin of the chained creature’s thighs.

He didn’t want to hurt this lovely, dovelike thing, all angles and restrained motion and a fluttering feeling of freedom. He wanted to cage it and cover it with his bulk and keep it out of the squalid sight of the world, pure and protected.

He moved, and felt a deep, awful, warning throb between his legs.

He didn’t want to hurt this beautiful thing, so he would hurt it less than it could be hurt. He stroked its face with one hand, and found the thing inside of it with the other.

He knew they couldn’t speak, that didn’t stop him from wishing that they could sing.

***

Every time Brock thought he’d managed to get the upper hand when it came to wrangling the Assets they proved him terrifyingly wrong and did so almost immediately.

He was going to have to write a report. Rollins would be a witness. This - just - they weren’t - 

Brock had thought Cap would try to be gentle. He was sweet on the Soldier, everyone knew it. They’d been friends, maybe lovers, before they were made into monsters. 

Brock had not expected the Captain to simply grab the dildo by its base, shove it as far into the Soldier as it would fit in one smooth, brutal motion, and dig the fingers of both hands into the skin around the toy to tear it open when that wasn’t enough to split the Soldier.

The color had dropped out of Rollins’ face. The Soldier was making a high, pitiful moaning sound that he tried to hide behind his teeth. Cap stood up over the Soldier with blood on his hands.

Brock was then witness to the bizarre tableau of the Soldier leaning forward to nuzzle under the Captain’s cock. He stiffened when the Soldier’s lips brushed his constricted balls, but sighed like summer when the Soldier wet his mouth and sucked a path along the thick ridge that ran along the underside of the Captain’s member.

Cap stopped him before he could suck the head into his mouth, putting a bloody thumb on his chin and holding him firm while he smeared gore on his jaw.

They weren’t supposed to speak.

“Beautiful,” the Captain said, voice grinding like rocks in the tide.

***

The creature had blue eyes and blood on its chin and he didn’t know what the word he’d said meant, only that it echoed through him and filled his chest with light and rightness. This thing, torn open and filled and hurt and struggling, was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

***

The Soldier breathed through the tearing pain, breathed through the whorl of memories blurring his eyes with tears, breathed through the stinking miasma of suffering and sex and sweat filling this sordid little room.

The Soldier looked up and saw an angel in turquoise and marble and coral.

***

Brock needed to get control of the room immediately. 

He sat hard on the bench that lined the front cell and tried to make it look intentional. 

“Get on your fucking knees and come here you little prick,” he barked, and the Captain looked at him, eyes empty and faraway. He mechanically folded to the ground and made his way over until he was between Brock’s knees.

“Take my cock out and put it in your mouth. I don’t even know what to do with you.”

Cap was being creepier than normal, which was saying something. He was moving like a wind-up doll and not seeing anything around him. When he put his mouth on Brock’s prick he didn’t pull his typical tongue-twister routine or try to suck his way down the shaft on orders, he just sat and held it and had an expression like a terminal insisting it was running updates.

Brock nudged his crotch and got a squeak out of him, so something was still in there at least.

“Rollins, unhook the soldier from the ground but keep him chained up. Take him to cell seven and lock him down then come back here.” Brock got a grip on the soft hair on the back of Cap’s head and started shallowly fucking into his slack, stupid mouth. It’s what he was doing when Rollins heaved the Soldier over his shoulder and headed out the door. 

“Wait,” Brock said, and Rollins paused. “Last look, sweetheart. Say goodbye.”

The Soldier snapped his head up from where it had been hanging near Jack’s waist to glare at Brock. His eyes settled on the slow little motions of Cap’s face as Brock moved his mouth over himself. 

“I’ll take care of him for you, baby,” Brock said, and waved Rollins out with the suddenly-struggling Soldier. 

Alone in the cell with the Captain he sat and considered what an absolute clusterfuck Cap had been since they last defrosted him. 

Four days out of the freezer and he was defiant and violent and, worst of all, unpredictable. 

Last time it had been a week. The Soldier wasn’t much better but at least you always knew what would set him off (heights, cigarette smoke, and Cap). 

It used to be that you could wipe the Assets once a month and never worry about protocol decaying. Brock had read the reports. 

The mouth around his cock moved, tongue pushing at the head, while Cap’s neck tensed up and he tried to move away. Brock pulled him off roughly by the hand in his hair and put himself back in his pants.

There was somebody home when he looked into the feral blue eyes.

Brock put his boot between the Captain’s legs and applied pressure. 

The man glaring out of the Captain’s face tensed his jaw. 

Brock swallowed.

“Good. I know you’re in there. You like to hide, don’t you, sweetheart?”

No response.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to stay in here for the rest of this operation. You are going to be good. You are not going to fight, bite, scheme, or speak. You are going to sit in this cell and be quiet.”

He wasn’t even blinking. 

“You are going to do that because if you don’t I’m going to make sure that the next time we freeze the Soldier something goes wrong and he rots like sausage in the sun.”

Brock wondered if this is what he’d been like before. The manic, animal brat that STRIKE had to deal with on missions was scary, but this focused, silent fury was like standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Majestic and impassive and one wrong step away from watching you die badly. 

“When we are done the Soldier is going on a jet and you are going on a different jet, and by the time we get you home he’ll be frozen and if you behave I’ll make sure he stays safe until you get called into the field again.”

Rollins was back, standing in the doorway and watching Brock and the Captain stare each other down like snakes as his eyes darted between the two of them. Cap stiffened at Jack’s presence but didn’t look away from Brock. 

“Lift your ass up. Rollins, get his pants down.”

The Captain’s glare could crack glass. Jack knelt behind him and Brock passed him a little silvery implement without breaking eye contact.

“Are you going to be good?”

Rollins had folded the clippers open with a little oily clicking sound. The only clue Brock had that his hand was around Cap’s sack was the fact that the square jaw clenched harder.

The Captain nodded.

Brock ran a ragged thumbnail over his smooth cheek.

“I don’t believe you.”

Jack cut the band around the supersoldier’s nutsack, Cap lost the staring contest.

His sharp eyes flooded with tears and a grated, panicked groan tore its way out of his chest as he came explosively. Jack pulled one shoulder and Brock shoved the other and between the two of them they got Cap on his back and Brock got a hand on the cold, twitching weight of his balls, digging his thumb into the soft flesh as blood flowed back into the skin and brought screamingly awful sensation with it.

“Everything I do to you I’m going to do to him but I’m going to do it longer and I’m going to do it meaner and it’ll be your fault. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the Captain howled, startling both handlers into brief stillness. Brock recovered first.

“Are you going to be good,” he accompanied his question with a cruel pull and twist to Cap’s nuts.

“ _Yes_ ,” he wailed, and Brock stood.

“Then _shut the fuck up_ ,” he growled, grinding the sole of his boot down on the supersoldier’s mangled, purple crotch until the man underneath their monster gave in and started sobbing.

Brock lifted his foot and Jack followed him out of the cell doubletime.

# 2014

Brock looked at the requisition sheet in his hand and brooded.

The ammunition, vehicles, fuel, and firearms were all in order, more than enough to deal with Tony Stark’s silly little superhero project.

But right there in black and white was the problem.

Item: Asset No.1 - Captain Hydra  
Item: Asset No. 2 - Winter Soldier 

Remove from storage and activate no later than one week prior to Project Insight launch date to give time for development and necessary weapons training. 

_Memo_ : Objections of Primary Handlers and Quartermaster have been noted and filed appropriately. Activate the Assets by Friday or I’ll have your balls on a platter.

\- AP

This was a fucking _terrible_ idea. 


End file.
